


the winds of the heavens

by sehnsvcht



Category: EXO (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, i even threw in some poetry, reuniting boyfriends i guess?, very soft as expected
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-05
Updated: 2017-10-05
Packaged: 2019-01-09 05:52:00
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,453
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12270192
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sehnsvcht/pseuds/sehnsvcht
Summary: In his mind, the image of Yixing is faint, barely there; the sound of his voice, however, is crystal clear, echoing against his walls and through his thoughts, and Baekhyun wonders. “Where are you, hyung, tonight?”





	the winds of the heavens

**Author's Note:**

> So. Hi. Long time no see, huh.
> 
> I don't know how this happened. Stressed out of my mind, I decided to take a break and I picked up a tiny thread of a story idea I had started working on months ago, and somehow managed to write about 70 per cent of it in... four hours? Yeah. That happened.
> 
> I've had this idea running in my head for a while: a story that would follow, in some way or another, the lyrics of "White Noise," "One and Only," and "They Never Know," in some shape or form. And this is the result.
> 
> Opening poem by Kahlil Gibran, taken from _The Prophet_ (I read this poem today! In class! And it was so fitting I just had to slide it in there).

_You were born together, and together you shall be forevermore._

_You shall be together when the white wings of death scatter your days._

_Ay, you shall be together even in the silent memory of God._

_But let there be spaces in your togetherness,_

_And let the winds of the heavens dance between you._

— Kahlil Gibran (full poem [here](http://www.katsandogz.com/onmarriage.html))

 

 

* * *

 

 

 

**i. white noise**

***

Baekhyun climbs the steps of the bus in quick succession, skipping the last two in one long stride. Swiftly, he takes out his card from his pocket, lets the scanner read it. He grins at the driver—a kind-looking woman in her mid-fifties, at most—who reciprocates with a tight-lipped smile of her own, but it’s sincere. That’s always good.

This late at night, there are only very few seats taken—bus lines rarely get busy past eight, though the subway rush lasts maybe until eleven. As it is, the vehicle welcomes more shadows and reflections of city streetlights than actual passengers, leaving Baekhyun to claim the seat at the far back of the bus, the one tucked in the left corner with a window showing the streets the best. He clicks open the upper part of the window, letting the wind rush inside in small exhales.

He leans his head against the glass once he sits, feels the slight chill of it seep through his hair and into his skull. Closing his eyes, he breathes in, breathes out, breathes in again. It’s with distracted but deft hands that he takes out his earplugs from his pocket, his phone in his other hand, and it only takes him moments to plug in everything and play his music.

Drums and bass drown out everything. Steady, dreamy vocals take over, and he doesn’t bother checking what song is playing. He just lets the music take over.

When he opens his eyes again, the bus is driving past a series of neon lights and high buildings, blurred with the movement and looking almost unreal this late at night. Baekhyun watches those lights leave an imprint against his eyes, a moving picture he can still see when he closes his eyes in tones of bright purple, warm red, burning yellow. There’s dashes of pink and blue in there, too, and it’s not unlike the streets outside.

He wonders if they’ll start drawing a picture of their own, if he stares a little longer. He wonders what he’ll see.

Though he’s just sat down, Baekhyun can already feel an itch crawling under his skin, begging him to _leave_ the vehicle already and walk those sidewalks by himself, to feel the late summer wind against his skin and the strength of the streetlights behind his eyelids. His hands are fidgety in his lap, fingers toying with the cable of his earplugs and the edges of his phone—pushing at the home button, putting it back to sleep, to turn it back on again—and he barely notices the way he pushes his transit card against the skin under his nails, making them click against the plastic.

Amongst this cluster of uneasy adrenaline, the sudden, startling thought of Yixing comes to mind.

Air makes it to his lungs hot and thick, even with the lower temperatures outside. His hands can’t stop moving, won’t stop moving, and now, Baekhyun can explain this sudden urge to _feel_ , to do something—to move, to reach out, to _him_.

What would Yixing do, were he there with him? He’d probably slide a hand in Baekhyun’s hair, play with the soft blonde strands there and scratch at his scalp. Baekhyun shivers at the mere thought, _feeling_ the ghostly touch all across his skin, goosebumps erupting all over his arms already. Yixing’s fingers would curl around Baekhyun’s locks, softly caressing the hair there, or they would tap gently at his skull to the beat of a melody—either his own or someone else’s, Baekhyun figures. Baekhyun would lean in to the touch, just like he leans in against the window, now, submerged in the illusion of Yixing next to him.

Yixing would also hum, softly, delicately—so low at first that Baekhyun wouldn’t hear it, either, until he grew more assured and his voice would be singing rather than humming. Baekhyun would indulge him, this late at night—rather than joining him, he would only listen, because he feels that he doesn’t let himself do that enough when Yixing is around.

It’s a mistake, he knows; moments with him are scarce enough as it is, and drowning his memories of him with his own voice and obnoxious self only comes short of ruining everything.

Of course, Yixing never agrees with Baekhyun about that. _I’m nowhere near as bright as you are, Baekhyun. I can’t compare. I never did. You’re a star of your own, you know._

And Baekhyun has always disputed him on that—Yixing is _so much more_ than he believes himself to be, and he’ll gladly remind him of that fact constantly, even by only keeping quiet and listening to him sing.

Baekhyun doesn’t notice he’s closed his eyes again until he opens them a second time, almost startled by the moving lights and the evening sky around him. Inside the bus, he’s the only passenger left, aside from the ever-so-present dancing shadows and bleak neon lights of the engine. The ghost of fingertips against his skin is so strikingly real he almost thinks it’s right there, _he’s_ right there, with him.

In his mind, the image of Yixing is faint, barely there; the sound of his voice, however, is crystal clear, echoing against his walls and through his thoughts, and Baekhyun wonders.

“Where are you, hyung, tonight?”

***

Yixing has always thought of Canada to be cold. That’s what movies and social media has taught him, anyway.

And so, having landed in Montreal in the middle of September two nights before, he didn’t expect the heat to almost suffocate him, humid air pushing through the already too thick fabrics of his uniform.

He fans himself discreetly, hiding behind the staff cabin’s walls, and catches Zitao’s eye from where he’s walking towards him, in the right alley.

“You good?” the younger asks, raising an eyebrow—but there’s a teasing glint to it, and Yixing rolls his eyes.

“Of course. I’ve seen worse heat, you know.”

“You don’t look like you have. A bit more and you’re going to pass out in the alley.”

Yixing straightens up, leaves a tiny punch against Zitao’s bicep before the latter leaves again to prep the plane with a snicker. He follows him, picking up goods as he goes and dropping them dutifully in each seat.

Once the passengers are boarding, Yixing plasters his kindest, most welcoming smile, ignoring the sweat that’s probably sliding down his spine at this very moment. Dimple on display, soft and small but effective nonetheless—that’s what Baekhyun calls his “angel” smile, but knowing him, Baekhyun probably has baptised each of his grins that way, only forcing Yixing to smile more—and it works, and Yixing can already feel himself smile a little wider just at the thought.

The flight between Montreal and Shanghai lasts around fourteen hours, more or less. It makes for a lot of prep before the flight, and quite a handful of work during, but the fact remains that fourteen hours is a _long_ time—a long time that Yixing doesn’t have to spend standing at all times, thankfully.

Security procedures, check. Take-off, check. Serving the first meal and checking up on passengers, after a while, that too; check.

He’s just done teaching a young mother how to set up a movie for her daughter on the screens when he sits down at his seat, just when Sicheng gets up to cover his shift of the night. Yixing watches him with a curious eye as he gets ready to leave, always quite fascinated by the young, almost naïve light that lives in his junior’s eye, somewhat always clashing with his sheer determination and strong will to work at the best of his capacity.

Baekhyun would say the same about Yixing, he thinks. He has, in fact, more than once.

Sicheng nods at him, eyes hopeful and admiring, something Yixing fails to understand. Nonetheless, he nods back, and closes his eyes with a smile.

He’s already lost track of time. He has no idea what time it is, according to Montreal’s hours, or what time it is back home, a handful of hours into the future. He could check his phone, to make sure, to have an idea—but the thought seems useless, trivial, when night sky he sees through the round windows of the engine would most definitely contradict whatever time his lock screen might display. And so Yixing doesn’t bother, and keeps his eyes shut, his body unmoving.

Sleep is not an option, though.

As much as he tries to relax, only his body is complying—his limbs are heavy with exhaustion anyway, and it’s not like he doesn’t feel each of his cells literally beg for some well-deserved rest. He feels like he’s been awake ever since he’s landed in Canada, a few days back, and the short naps and the semblance of sleep he’s gotten in his two nights there have done very little to appease his fatigue.

But still—his mind is racing, reeling, with thoughts of the night around him or somewhere else, with the memory of Montreal’s unfamiliar city lights juxtaposed against London’s, Frankfurt’s, all those places he’s been; and Shanghai’s. The noise of the streets also comes back to him, sounding oh so different in each place he visits—or barely—yet also seeming like all the same quiet bustle, the same car noises just ringing a little differently, the same chatter only just curling around words otherwise. Voices mix in his head.

There’s also the sharp lights of the stars that make up the sky of those cities shedding their light on Yixing’s thoughts; in some more than others, they shine brighter, the mask of smog less thick in some places. They leave shadows in the walls of his mind just like they would against trees, sidewalks, buildings; against faces and hands, skin, lips.

Yixing isn’t even startled when the image of Baekhyun’s face emerges from his thoughts, clear as day. It’s only fair—Baekhyun breathes, shines light, brighter than anyone else’s, and the sound of his voice always rings louder, recognizable to him from the very first second it resonates. The small smile pulling at his lips is soft, and he wonders how Baekhyun would describe this one.

With being away so often also comes with a lot of yearning—craving for the fresh cooking from home he only ever gets on extended breaks, when he catches a train to Changsha; or missing the familiar sound of his mother tongue being spoken in the streets; or of course, yearning, for a touch or a kiss— _Baekhyun’s_ —which only can comfort and appease him.

Yixing misses the softness of Baekhyun’s skin under his fingertips, the soft texture of his hair, the way his chest vibrates and rumbles at the sound of his low voice. He misses his smile and his laugh, and the sparkle in his eyes when he catches Yixing sing or hum. In fact, Yixing almost starts singing on his own, even here in this small plane cabin above some ocean or another, but he stops himself just in time—he’d rather listen to Baekhyun, his endless chatter that never fails to fascinate him, the texture of his voice that could never compare to another, even if it only comes from the depth of his mind from some memory or another.

The way Baekhyun murmurs, speaks, softly yet keeping his voice so whole and rich. The way he laughs loudly, yells sometimes even, and how it never sounds jarring but instead invigorating. The ease with which he moves—though Baekhyun is so quick at reminding Yixing of his own _“graceful stance,”_ or so he says—the glint of his eyes and the bent curve of his smile, the warmth and challenge he exudes at once, and the incredible impossibility (or is it?) of his love for Yixing, which he never fails to remind him of. It’s overwhelming, all of a sudden.

The thought of time strikes him again. Is it morning now, or evening, back home? Yixing genuinely has no idea, and though he should probably have gotten used to time zones with having this job for over a year or two now, there’s just an oddity with travelling, with roaming the world at such high speeds that it seemingly transcends time, in a way, even if it doesn’t.

He wonders if Baekhyun is sleeping, or having lunch, or catching up with Lu Han and Minseok. Yixing wonders how he is, what he’s thinking about, what’s going on in that fascinating mind of his that he never keeps to himself, always ready to share.

Whenever Baekhyun falls silent, Yixing has the habit of asking him. And always, Baekhyun replies with a smile, something so fond and so incredulously admiring it takes Yixing’s breath away, unsure if he’s truly deserving of any of it. _I’m not just a chatterbox, you know. I love listening to you. You have the nicest voice, and the most beautiful thoughts_.

And Yixing is always so quick on telling him he’s wrong—that nothing or no one could ever pale or dim Baekhyun’s glow, his voice, his thoughts. But at those times, Baekhyun always falls silent, and Yixing knows it’s only a cue for him to do something, anything—and so he sings.

But right now, right now in this little cabin in the middle of nowhere, Yixing can only hear Baekhyun’s laugh and his words and his never ending chatter, a sweet melody in its own way.

In his mind, the image of Baekhyun is faint, barely there; the sound of his voice, however, is crystal clear, echoing against his walls and through his thoughts, and Yixing wonders.

“How are you tonight, love?”

***

_friendly reminder: somebody loves you (that’s me!). remember this, okay? i’ll be home soon enough. love you, always. <3_

Baekhyun blinks sleep away from his eyes and fumbling around for his phone with his right hand. It’s about six in the morning, his phone tells him once he gets a hand around it—which means it’s about five in the afternoon wherever Yixing took off last night. Then again, he might be anywhere in the world as it is, right now.

He stares at the text, feels something twist at his stomach. It’s good—it feels _good_ , but also it doesn’t; Baekhyun is yearning, craving, and it’s…

It gets a little too much, sometimes. The emotion burning so bright with love inside his guts is also responsible for his desperate craving. Distance is good—it’s essential, even—but the nature of his feelings, and how contradictory it all feels sometimes becomes almost unbearable.

_Somebody loves you._

Baekhyun knows that. He could never, ever forget.

And he loves somebody, too. This late at night, his thoughts are hazy and foggy, and he can barely sort through them—but there’s the image of Yixing, floating uncertainly in the clouds of his mind, but there, nonetheless; smiling, loving; tangible, real.

And so, so far away.

Outside, he hears the rain. It’s quiet, this early in the morning, like the droplets are matching the softness and ethereal nature of the peeking sunlight behind the gray clouds of the sky. They leave tiny trails of water gliding down his window panes, sticking to the glass and deforming the awakening landscape of Shanghai’s streets.

The rain falls slowly, too slowly, even. It doesn’t look real. It’s not fast enough.

Right now, Baekhyun thinks of Yixing as the rain, _becoming_ the rain and falling down, down to him, but never fast enough.

He groans, sits up in bed and presses his fingers against his eyes, trying to focus his eyesight and wake himself up just a little bit—enough to type back his reply.

_good. could you ask the pilot to fly faster? turn on the mega turbo reactors or something??? if they exist i mean. i rly miss you._

Baekhyun stares at his tiny phone screen, biting his lip.

Something is missing.

He backspaces the last four words. Instead, he adds the following.

_sleeping isn’t the same without you. anything… it’s not the same hyung. i miss youuu. come back home safe. and soon!!! <3_

Baekhyun hits send. The message isn’t immediately delivered. Baekhyun figures Yixing must be flying, then.

He sighs, puts his phone down. It takes him much, much longer this time, to fall back asleep.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**ii. one and only**

***

Yixing touches down in Shanghai too late.

He doesn’t care what time it is. It’s always _too late_.

How long has it been now? Five days? Six? Four? He doesn’t even know. Yixing has stopped counting the days, the hours—or forgotten to, whichever—somewhere between the Atlantic and the Indian Oceans. When the numbers start climbing too high, it gets like that. It always becomes too much.

Yixing needs Baekhyun, right now, as terribly desperate and awfully needy as it sounds.

He keeps calm, for the most part. He helps Zitao, Song Qian, and Sicheng with cleaning up the plane, even though that’s technically not their job. It’s usually the next team’s task, but the four of them have never been ones to leave other people to do their dirty work.

Still, it becomes hard to focus at some point, as Yixing knows where he _is_. The airport gives very little clues of the city, but it still gives off more familiarity than any other place he has ever been—not even Seoul, the closest thing to Baekhyun’s home, or romantic Paris, with its arms wide open and oh so warm. As he catches glimpses of the morning rain outside, the Yellow Sea not so far away, Yixing can’t help the slight shivers running down his spine, the distracted air he seems to carry around, the—

“Yixing,” Song Qian’s voice rings, stunning him out of his thoughts.

He spins around, accidentally dropping the crumpled blankets he was holding with unsteady hands. “Oh—shit, sorry. Uh—”

“Leave it.” Rather than reprimanding him, she smiles, walks a few steps and picks up his mess for him. Yixing doesn’t deserve Song Qian. She’s like the older sister he’s never had, in more ways than one. “I know you’re dying to get out of here, so just go.”

Like an older sister indeed—and sometimes, it clouds her judgement, Yixing starts to think. “No, listen, it’s fine; I’ll finish up, and Baekhyun can wait—”

It’s a lie. Yixing thinks they both know it.

She laughs incredulously, like she doesn’t believe him, like she knows better. “Are you sure about that? Are you sure _you_ can wait, Yixing-ah?”

Yixing presses his lips together. There’s something like a laugh, or a sob, that’s threatening to come out of his throat.

He knows Song Qian is right. He knows, as he looks at her, stares at her too tired eyes and her warm smile. Her makeup is smudged around the corner of her eyes and she looks stunning, motherly, and her knowing grin finally breaks the walls inside Yixing’s heart.

He doesn’t get to say a word before she speaks again. “Go on, then. We’ll cover for you. It’s been a whole week, you realize that, right?”

Seven days, then. No wonder why he feels so lost.

He steals a look at Sicheng, who’s looking at him with his ever-so-admiring eyes. They soften as soon as they meet Yixing’s, and the younger smiles at him kindly, like he understands. Like he knows.

He’s so young, Yixing thinks, but suddenly, he feels like the young one, the one daring to run for the only sake of love, or something. He doesn’t think he’s deserving of the overwhelming kindness that’s being offered to him, all of a sudden, but—

“Alright,” he breathes out. He doesn’t mean to sound this breathless. “I’ll, uh—lemme just finish—”

“Just go.” Yixing turns around, finds Zitao walking in his direction with a smirk. Is he ever not smirking? This time, though, there’s an affectionate edge to it. “You look even worse now than you did back in Montreal with that God-awful heat.” Somehow, Yixing is keen to believe him.

“Go to him,” Song Qian then says, and this time, Yixing doesn’t need to be told twice.

***

The second time Baekhyun wakes that morning, he gasps.

He can still feel Yixing’s lips against his own. He can still feel his hands, roaming his body, the soft rasp of his voice as he chanted Baekhyun’s name over and over again—

Sure, it was all a dream, but it hits Baekhyun, suddenly: Yixing comes back today.

Something catches at his throat, and he tries his best to force it down, to calm his thoughts, to quiet down his heartbeat—but it proves to be much more difficult; or maybe Baekhyun was expecting as much. He tries to will his limbs to stop shaking, to stop buzzing with so much adrenaline, not this early in the morning, no matter how wildly his thoughts are running in his head.

It’s too early for this. His head is still spinning from slumber.

He settles back into his covers, the bed feeling empty without another body next to his— _but not for long!_ —hiding once more within their warmth. The rain is still splattering itself against the windows, harder this time, faster—does it mean anything? Baekhyun almost laughs at his thoughts, at the stupid coincidence of everything.  

He does not laugh—instead, he smiles as he closes his eyes, trying to catch the last glimpses of his dream still lingering in his mind. Of course, it does not exactly work—it never works, really; reconnecting with a dream always ends up being a lost cause, and a disappointing one at that. But he still manages to delve back into the warm feeling it had instilled in him, easing the knots in his heart he didn’t even know were there in the first place.

Yixing’s voice wafts in his mind. He knows it’s not the real one—not yet—but he almost whines at the illusion. The murmur of the rain almost sounds like it’s harmonizing with Baekhyun’s thoughts, just a little; it’s soothing, calming.

He can’t feel the press of Yixing’s arms around his body anymore, though. The memory of his kiss remains only that—a memory, right there but still out of reach. But Baekhyun holds onto the thought of all of it coming back to him, soon.

Just a few hours. Or even less. What time is it? Has Yixing landed yet? How much more will he have to wait?

He picks up his phone, and is surprised to find a reply to his text. His heart summersaults, a grin breaking across his face instantly.

Soon.

_i’m here love!!!! <3_

It’s simple. It’s enough. It’s enough to set Baekhyun’s inside on fire and make him smile so much his face hurts and it’s enough for him to press the call button and push the phone against his ear.

For a few moments, he can only listen to the line connecting, the tones following each other and never once interrupting. He’s growing slightly impatient, but he quiets it down, counts slowly in his head, as if to slow time itself—

“Baekhyun.”

Yixing’s voice is calm, poised, serene—yet it acts like a hurricane, ravaging Baekhyun’s insides and drowning him with emotion, and he thinks he can hear as much as well in the tone of his lover’s voice.

“Hi,” he breathes back—he’s breathless—and says again, “Hi, hello, hi.”

Yixing laughs, and Baekhyun implodes, his smile too big and his teeth digging into his bottom lip with the force of it. He’s going to cry. “Please, Baekhyun, don’t pass out on me.”

“Oh, I’m not,” he assures him. “I promise you I won’t. I would never. Not now. Do you know how much—”

“I’ve missed your voice so much,” Yixing whispers, almost to himself, as though he didn’t mean for Baekhyun to hear.

But he does, nonetheless, and he’s stunned, speechless, before he breaks out into rambling again. “I missed your voice, too. And you! So much. So, so much. God, I can’t wait until—”

“I’m almost here, love.”

“I know.”

“I’m sorry.”

Ah, there it goes. “No, please, don’t be.” Baekhyun pours so much love, sincere and powerful and undying love into his words. It’s the only thing he can do. “It’s fine, it’s always fine, you know that.” He isn’t sure why he says that. He needs Yixing to be sure of it though. “I can’t wait for you to be home, though.”

“How are you?” Yixing dodges his reassurance, but Baekhyun doesn’t mind. He knows Yixing has heard. It shows in how his voice is even calmer, even more assured than it was moments before. It worked.

They understand each other like that.

It’s funny, cause really, they spoke to each other about twenty hours prior to this conversation—but maybe it’s the trepidation of what’s coming that leaves them so moved and restless, Baekhyun figures.

He stares down at his hands, fingers spread out, and flexes them slowly, imagining another right under his. “I’m good,” he answers. “I just woke up. Been working. Met up with Minseok-hyung and Lu Han-hyung. Rode the bus a lot. You know how I get.”

The desire to escape and wander and _feel_ is always stronger when Baekhyun is yearning, but it always _feels_ and tastes better when Yixing is there to make him whole.

“I ride planes and you ride buses,” Yixing chuckles. “And yet we never go travelling anywhere.”

“We could, you know.” Baekhyun has thought about it. “One day, I might just book a ticket and end up on the same flight as you. We could spend some night somewhere and come back like you always do.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Yixing murmurs. Baekhyun knows there’s a retort at the tip of his boyfriend’s tongue—there always is, because it isn’t the first time they’ve talked about this—but this time, it seems like Yixing is willing to indulge him.

Seven days. Maybe that’s what it takes.

Baekhyun looks out to the window. The daylight is blue-gray, tinging everything in something impossibly ethereal and comforting despite the lack sun and its customary warmth. Rain still turns his windows into intricate crystal panes.

He sits up, hugging Yixing’s pillow with one arm, keeping the phone close, very close, with the other. The sheets fall down at his waist, settling there. “How was Montreal?”

“So lovely, Baekhyun.” Yixing’s smile is obvious. “I didn’t really see much of it, but Sicheng dragged me out one night. It’s like everything is old and new. It’s like everyone just wants you to fit in there with them, you know? There’s small shops and big malls and it’s like the whole world lives and breathes in that city.”

“Really?” Baekhyun doesn’t say another word—he lets Yixing’s swallow him whole instead, carried by their rhythm and the song they sing.

“Really. And the music! It breathes music in and breathes it out, Baekhyunnie. It’s everywhere. In the streets and in the metro and in the bars, everywhere. And it’s so different, too. Varied. And there’s arts on the brick walls, and sometimes the walls and streets are the art. You would love it.” Then, with a knowing tone, “I might take you with me next time.”

Baekhyun laughs brightly at that. “I’ve never heard you talk about any place like this.”

“I had you on my mind the entire time,” Yixing muses with a low hum. “Maybe it made it all the more special.”

“Can we visit Paris first, though?”

“Paris sounds good. But if we ever go anywhere anytime soon, it has to be—”

“Home,” Baekhyun cuts, knowing it is the right answer.

He hears Yixing sighs contentedly on the other side of the line. “Yeah, home.” There’s noise in the background, like steps and cars and doors opening and closing. “I think I miss your grandmother’s cooking more than I miss you.”

“Impossible,” Baekhyun snorts. “Do you think of my grandma’s cooking when you’re all the way on the other side of the world? I don’t think you do. Unless you’re keeping something from me, Zhang Yixing—”

“No,” Yixing says—and it sounds so clear, all of a sudden. Muffled, far away, but oh so clear. Baekhyun’s heart jumps to his throat. “I only ever think of you.”

“Hyung?”

“Come open the door, Baekhyun. I’m here.” Yixing hangs up.

Baekhyun kicks his sheets, stumbles onto the cold bedroom floor and doesn’t even care that he’s only wearing a thin tee-shirt and boxers and will probably get sick as soon as he opens the door to the unusually cold early autumn air—because as he does so, as his hands fumble with the handle and throws the front door open, he sees him, and everything is right again.

Yixing smiles, and it’s like he never left at all. It’s always like this. His dimple digs deep into his cheek and his eyes are misty and oh so tired and Baekhyun wants to soothe them, to kiss his eyelids, to make up for the past seven days they’ve spent away from each other.

Only seven days. How is that even possible?

“You’re here,” Baekhyun says, voice much more confident than he feels.

“I’m home,” Yixing says, stepping inside, putting down his bags. Baekhyun makes no move to step back, and Yixing ends up in his space, where he belongs.

“You’re home,” Baekhyun says, and before he knows what he’s doing, he winds his arms around Yixing’s neck, and kisses him.

***

The tears fall as soon as Yixing’s lips meet Baekhyun’s.

His hands find themselves gripping at Baekhyun’s hips instantly, as he moves his mouth against his languidly, desperately. It’s like they were apart for a lifetime, or weren’t at all. It’s something in between—no matter what it is, it feels like _home_ , Yixing is certain of it.

Baekhyun stumbles into him, pressing closer, backing him up against the door until Yixing is trapped between his body and the dark wood behind him. Baekhyun breathes against his mouth before latching onto it again, kissing his lips tenderly, and then hungrily, licking and biting, before he slows down again, like he doesn’t know what to do. Yixing kisses him back just as eagerly, tasting Baekhyun and feeling the heat of his skin under his fingertips and the way his breath fans over their slick lips.

Yixing pulls Baekhyun closer, feeling him slotting against his own body like he belongs there—because he _does_ —before their kisses grow deeper, their hands more pressing. Yixing has had almost a lifetime of kissing Baekhyun, or feels like has, because he knows exactly what to do to make him moan against him, to make him push into him even more; he knows exactly how hard to bite at his lips to disarm him completely and knows exactly how to leave feathery touches across the soft skin of his waist to make him shudder. It all works, just like Baekhyun knows how to run his hands in Yixing’s hair, feeling the strands between his fingers before Yixing feels the ghostly touch of fingertips against his neck, and he’s the one shuddering, now.

“My Baekhyun,” he murmurs between two fervent kisses. “I love you so much.”

And Baekhyun smiles against his lips, and despite the kissing, the touching, the overwhelming sensory overload taking over his brain— _this_ , his smile, it’s what makes Yixing’s heart burst with happiness. “I love you too,” he breathes, voice hoarse. “I love you.”

They part slowly, still immersed in each other, still so close that their noses bump and brush against each other. Their foreheads are joined and Baekhyun chuckles into their small space. “We’re a mess.”

“We totally are.”

“It’s alright.”

Yixing laughs now. “It’s more than alright.” He steals a peck from Baekhyun’s lips, lingering there just a bit longer, just because he _can_. They have all the time in the world.

“Welcome home,” Baekhyun says.

“Welcome home,” Yixing says back.

Baekhyun’s smile blooms, and Yixing finally feels at ease.

 

 

 

* * *

 

 

**iii. they never know**

***

Yixing’s moan is loud across the room.

Baekhyun basks in it, in what it inevitably means— _he_ is the reason for it, for Yixing falling apart under his hands, his touch, and in the end it’s probably from more than that, too.

“ _Baekhyun_ ,” Yixing pants, in a rough voice that clashes with the flush of his cheeks spreading down to his chest.

He leans in, his hair falling around his face like a pale halo, and he knows he must look like some kind of deranged angel of some kind—but in Yixing’s eyes, he only sees awe, love, and it’s enough. It’s more than enough.

Baekhyun approaches him slowly, kisses him so deeply Yixing arches his back for it, groans into his mouth and chases after his lips. His body trembles, shudders, like he’s feeling Baekhyun all over his skin and not just where his hands are working him open.

He is stunningly gorgeous like this, and Baekhyun is lucky enough to see him like this, to _make_ him like this.

He detaches his lips from Yixing’s, who reluctantly lets him go, eyes closed and lips still parted, like he’s only waiting for Baekhyun to kiss him again. Instead, Baekhyun leans down and presses his mouth at the juncture of Yixing’s neck and shoulder, and Yixing hums slowly, appreciatively.

When Baekhyun follows, Yixing shudders again.

“Is it bad if I tell you now how much I’ve missed you?” Yixing manages. “How much I’ve missed this?”

“You’ve missed me only for sex, huh?” Baekhyun replies, his voice so low—when did it get so low?—lips brushing against Yixing’s skin. “I’m offended.”

“Like shit you are.” Yixing almost chokes on his words, Baekhyun’s fingers pushing a little deeper. “I—fuck—I know you get off of this, brat.”

He’s not wrong. Baekhyun loves the attention, loves the power he holds over Yixing, loves knowing how much Yixing has missed him—all of him, of course, but _this_ , too. The way they fall apart over and over again in each other’s arms, the way they seem to build and remake their own world whenever they are together, however that might be.

Baekhyun digs his teeth softly into Yixing’s neck, feeling him still just for a fraction of a second before he moans again, _loudly_. He doesn’t quicken his pace, still goes atrociously slow, because he wants this to last forever and he doesn’t know when he’ll get the chance to do this, all over again.

“You’re not wrong,” Baekhyun answers belatedly. “I’ve missed this too.” He moves to kiss Yixing again, and notes how Yixing desperately launches at his mouth like he absolutely needs it. “I’ve missed you. I always do.”

Soon, both Yixing and Baekhyun can’t say anything more, can only breathe and heave in the space of their bedroom, rain still beating against the roof and the walls. Their skin is burning hot, the temperature in the room rising, the soft daylight creating shadows against their moving bodies that look like they’re not even there at all.

Yixing is swimming in it all—and Baekhyun figures he is, too—and he looks beautiful, like this, with him, next to him, all around him.

Baekhyun still moves slowly, so slowly, even as Yixing begs for him to go faster, harder—though Baekhyun knows he wants nothing but _this_ , this way, the way they always do. Their arms are tight around each other, their mouths busy kissing every inch of skin they come across—if not each other—and it’s in the midst of this that Yixing says it.

“Yours,” he says at first.

“Huh?”

“I’m yours,” he says again, the last word louder than the rest, before a blissed chuckle makes it out of his lips. “I’m, ah… I’m losing it, you’re so—”

“Yours,” Baekhyun repeats—because is this really happening? A lot of the time, it feels as though the world he and Yixing build and rebuild constantly is impossible and too good to be true, absolutely eerie in ways most things aren’t and never should be, and yet it is too real for Baekhyun to even dare deny the reality of any of it. “You’re mine, and I’m yours.”

“Yeah, something like that.” Yixing is still laughing, though his voice is turning obscenely loud, moans taking over his laughter.

“Something like that?” Baekhyun questions, but then Yixing rolls his hips and sparks shoot up his spine, and he can’t finish his sentence, his thoughts.

The pleasure, it feels like it lasts forever.

***

They haven’t left the bed since Yixing got home. Not that he minds.

He hasn’t even taken a look at the rest of the apartment to make sure Baekhyun didn’t break or burn or completely destroy something during his absence, and distracted him with sex so that he wouldn’t bother to check. But again—Yixing doesn’t mind, he thinks, curling a strand of Baekhyun’s hair around his finger.

Just to make sure, though, he asks, “Everything was okay, right?”

Baekhyun hums, scrolling at his phone, switching between songs before they’re even halfway through playing. “What do you mean?”

“When I was away. You didn’t, like, I don’t know. Clog the toilet, or something. Burn the toaster. Break the coffee machine.” He pauses, then realizes with a start, “Oh my God, _did_ you break the coffee machine? Is that why you said we shouldn’t have coffee before when we—”

Baekhyun bursts into laughter, cutting Yixing’s words and thoughts and only screaming _HAPPY_ inside his head. He’s so happy. “Whoa, hyung, you sure have faith in me, huh?” He settles for some indie rock song, putting his phone down on his side of the bed and turning to Yixing. The gesture makes his hand over Baekhyun’s hair, caressing the blonde strands distractedly. “I did not clog the toilet. That’s really fucking gross, by the way. And I did not burn the toaster. I don’t even like toasts anyway, you’re the one eating bagels all the time.” Baekhyun brings his index finger and pokes Yixing’s cheek, where his dimple sits. “And I did not break the coffee machine. You’ve probably had enough caffeine in the past week to last you a lifetime, so I thought we’d lay off the coffee a bit.”

Yixing pouts. “Fine.” He eyes Baekhyun, the tiny freckles that are barely there to see, the clean cut of his collarbones, the softness of his cheeks. “When will I have the right to have coffee again?”

“I don’t know. Maybe never.”

“Baekhyun!”

“Okay, fine, let’s say, like, a good thirty-six hours.”

“That’s so _long_ —”

“There’s tea! Have tea. It’s better for you,” Baekhyun insists, nodding like he knows what he’s talking about when they both know he doesn’t, not really.

“Okay, then, make me tea.”

Baekhyun shakes his head, and suddenly sits up—so suddenly Yixing’s hand is sent flying across the bed, falling limply between their bodies. “Nope. I’m taking you on a date, hyung. And on that date, we’ll have tea.”

At that, Yixing groans, watching Baekhyun get up and grab his discarded tee from the floor and putting it on. “But I’m tired,” he sighs. “What ever happened to staying in? Enjoying the softness of our sheets? Of each other? Our love blooming between the chemistry of our joined bodies—”

“If you’re talking like this, you’re definitely not tired enough,” Baekhyun tuts.

Then, he climbs back in bed, straddling Yixing’s hips and leaning in. Yixing welcomes his kiss—how could he not?—and hums into it, but Baekhyun pulls away too soon, and there’s a finger pressing at the tip of his nose.

“Come on, let’s go,” Baekhyun says, and Yixing can already feel his resolve melting away.

“Where to?”

“The city.”

“We’re already in the city. We _live_ in the city.” Them. Together. It has been years now but it still makes Yixing giddy.

“The rest of the city,” Baekhyun murmurs. His eyes are playful but so full of love, and Yixing wants to kiss it out of him, to taste it and share it and give it all back to him.

“What time is it anyway?” he asks instead.

Baekhyun gets up again, reaches for his phone and lights it up, pauses the music as he goes. “Five to seven.”

“Why is it that we always do this at night?” Yixing says before he yawns, stretching his arms far above his head and finally deciding to swing his legs over the edge of the bed.

“You noticed too?” Baekhyun says, like they suddenly share the most exciting secret, and Yixing plays the game with him.

“Maybe we’re meant to do this,” he says, though it sounds more like _“Maybe we’re meant to be together”_ in his head.

He runs a hand in his hair as he gets up, heading towards the bathroom. He knows Baekhyun is following him.

“Maybe, yeah,” Baekhyun replies as he hugs Yixing from behind, breathing him in.

To him, to the both of them, he dares to think, Yixing thinks it sounds more like, _“Yeah, we’re meant to be.”_

Even when they’re miles apart and unable to contact the other. Even when entire oceans and unknown lands stand between them. But especially now, like this, in this world with its own sun and its own mood that only _they_ get to share and know about.

***

Baekhyun likes to play games. It’s in his nature.

Turning something trivial and so absolutely ordinary into an adventure, no matter how small. It’s the thought behind it that counts, really—and the fun he gets out of it.

So far, the best and most exciting adventure he’s been in is with Yixing. And that’s mostly because Yixing is very much just like him—though he does it differently, they share that same desire to get out and explore the world, make it theirs, or simply just make an entire world of their own.

It’s partly this that pushes Baekhyun to pick a _very randomly chosen_ place on the other side of town— _very random, hyung! I promise_ —which leaves them no choice but to take public transit to get to said place.

(They could, technically, use Yixing’s car. You know, if he wasn’t too exhausted to drive, or if Baekhyun wasn’t certain Yixing knew exactly what he was after. And anyway, driving in Shanghai is an absolute nightmare, isn’t it?)

Yixing catches his hand as soon as they step out of the apartment building, squeezing once and lingering just a bit before letting go. Baekhyun almost chases after it, but doesn’t—it’s okay, though. It’s more than okay.

“The rain,” Yixing says. “It stopped.”

Baekhyun had forgotten about the rain. “It did.” He looks up to the sky, and after a moment, adds, “It might pick up again soon. I have a feeling.”

“So what’s the plan?”

“Bus, then subway, then we should be there,” answers Baekhyun. He breathes in the air around him, and scrunches his nose at the acrid smell of gas mixed with the wet asphalt swarming the space.

Yixing bumps his shoulder as they reach the stop, almost deserted. “I can’t believe you’re already dragging me out. I just got back, it hasn’t even been twenty-four hours yet!”

“You’ve spent most of that time in bed, you know that, right?”

“Yeah, definitely _not_ sleeping. And whose fault is that?”

Baekhyun’s first reflex is to scoff, but he swallows it down—instead, he leans in dangerously close to Yixing’s ear, keeping his voice breathy the way it makes Yixing lose his mind. “As much mine as it is yours, hyung.”

When he retreats, like nothing just happened, he catches sight of the delectable look on Yixing’s face.

“Point taken,” his boyfriend says, swallowing visibly. Baekhyun chuckles heartily, only quieting down when he sees the bus pull over in front of them.

They pick the last row of seats at the far back. Yixing gets the window seat, by Baekhyun doesn’t mind—when he’s with him, he’d much rather bask in his presence alone, devoid of any distraction or any reason not to latch onto his side. When the vehicle starts moving, their movements are almost choreographed: Yixing leans against the window, brings his arm up, and Baekhyun slots himself against his side, his head resting against his shoulder close to his neck.

They breathe in deeply, at once, and it makes them both laugh at the same time. Baekhyun is so happy he could explode any minute now.

Though they stay silent for most of the ride, Baekhyun is content with watching the city leaves an imprint all over Yixing’s face. He looks as Shanghai paints Yixing bright purple, warm red, burning yellow. There’s dashes of pink and blue in there, casting deep shadows that move across his features and seem to draw him over and over again. Baekhyun himself decides to draw Yixing in his head—he traces the contour of his profile with his eyes, the bump and straight slope of his nose, the curve of his lips, the sharp edges of his cheekbones. He notices how the water still sticking to the windows—one of the few remainders of the morning’s rain—seems to cast a pattern against the skin of his face, and it renders him all the more fascinating, somehow.

The only thing missing is music—Yixing’s, that is—but Baekhyun has a feeling this won’t be an issue for much longer.

A hand starts carding its fingers through Baekhyun’s hair, softly, lovingly. He closes his eyes—it’s just like he’s imagined, not too far long ago, except this is even better, so much better, this is _real_. He pays close attention to it, but almost can’t—there’s this growing warmth in his earth, shattering his rational thoughts into pieces, filling him up with such a nice, comfortable feeling Baekhyun is almost at a loss as to what to do.

Except, he isn’t. This isn’t the first time—and certainly not the last—and so Baekhyun only lets the feeling wash over him, envelop him, casting a stupid smile on his face but he can’t give a damn, right now.

Tomorrow, the day after that, or an entire week from now, Baekhyun might look back at his current thoughts and actions, shake his head at their sheer ridiculousness, at how terribly smitten he’s currently acting. But what can he do? Whether that time comes or not, the fact is that he is right here, right now, by Yixing’s side with his hand in his hair, not exactly travelling but going in between places that feels like a whole realm where they are kings.

When Yixing starts humming, Baekhyun hides his smile against his neck, and keeps it there.

***

Baekhyun actually does take them to a tea shop. Yixing is almost surprised it wasn’t just a trick to get them out of the house and wander around the city.

“What are you having?”

Yixing shrugs, shaking the rain out of his hair. Baekhyun was right—it started raining sometime during their subway ride, and they got caught into it as they ran from the subway to the shop a few streets further. “I don’t know. I’ve never been here.”

“Let me tell you a secret,” Baekhyun says. He puts his hands on Yixing’s shoulders, squeezing gently as they both look up at the menu. “I haven’t either. Minseok recommended this place, and I thought we’d go together.”

This makes Yixing snort a laugh. Of course. He’s not even surprised. “A man of adventure, are you?”

“No less,” Baekhyun replies gingerly in his ear.

Yixing settles on a jasmine tea, while Baekhyun opts for a strawberry sencha. They pick a small booth at the corner of the store as they wait for their drinks.

“What next?” Yixing asks playfully. He takes Baekhyun’s hand and plays with his fingers, or maybe it’s the other way around, he isn’t so sure.

Baekhyun raises his eyebrows at him. “I thought you were tired?”

“Not that tired,” Yixing amends. _Not when I’m with you_ , he wants to add, but they’ve both had their fills of honest sappy clap backs for the day, he decides.

“Well,” Baekhyun starts, “I would love for this escapade to carry on for longer, but I have work tomorrow.”

Oh. Right. Yixing didn’t just come back to Baekhyun—he also came back to their shared life together, the one that extends beyond the walls of their own kingdom he often tends to get lost in.

“Oh,” his words echoing his thoughts. “That’s fine. I’m sorry, I didn’t think—“

A finger presses against his lips, sealing them shut. “Don’t say another word. You’re getting all apologetic on me again.”

Yixing narrows his eyes at Baekhyun, but relents nonetheless, and misses his touch when he lowers his index. “Alright. Let’s enjoy our tea.”

At that, Baekhyun’s gaze softens considerably—how is the thought of tea so charming suddenly? How is it even possible? Yixing has no idea, but somehow, he understands it. “Yeah, let’s.”

Yixing has an idea of how the next day will go. Baekhyun will wake up before he does to head to the store—Yixing might just end up sleeping the entire day away, until evening, that is—and will leave him already made coffee in their machine despite his earlier proclaimed thirty-six hour boycott. Yixing will have to head to the airport to train newbies, but at least, he’s not flying. They will only meet much later in the night, the hours of their busy days weighting them down, so much that they’ll speak little and might only share an embrace before going to bed together. Yixing pictures it all in his mind, and it makes his heart twist sadly in his guts.

But then, Baekhyun pulls at his hand, and he’s being submerged in this little world they’ve built, the time of one night, like they have so often before. He gets lost in the simple delight swarming Baekhyun’s eyes, how it curves his cheeks and makes him smile that stunning smile he fell in love with.

There’s still a few hours left to the night, he thinks.

It’s enough. It’s more than enough.

**Author's Note:**

> If you've made it through this mess of feelings—a thousand times thank you! Kudos, comments, and kind shoutouts on Twitter (@nxkhlan, don't let that little lock next to my name scare you) are always deeply appreciated ♥ See you soon, I believe! :)


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